


Warm Kisses

by sadlittlepeachesandplums



Series: Quentin and Eliot Drabble Collection [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Quentin tries to seduce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittlepeachesandplums/pseuds/sadlittlepeachesandplums
Summary: Quentin's seduction techniques could use a lot of help.





	Warm Kisses

They’re working on the mosaic in the dead of winter, and Quentin should be focusing on the way his fingers go numb with each tile he presses into the sand, or the way his knees ache with each tile he accidentally crawls over. Or the snow that crunches beneath them. Hell, he should focus on literally anything other than what he is.

Which is the length of Eliot’s fingers, and the lithe movements of his body. He’s graceful like a cat, but sexy like—well, like a man. Every tile he places, shuffles his shirt up a little higher, and Quentin catches a glimpse of the V forming on his hips, and he’s clearly got a warming spell to keep him from freezing to death like Quentin is. Quentin could cast a spell and warm himself up, too. Could do a whole lot to end his misery. But he’d kind of hoped Eliot would notice how pink his skins gone, and the way his spine shakes every few seconds. But, nope.

The idiot’s stuck on finishing this rendition of the mosaic which, as everyone and their mother knows—will turn out to be another bust.

Quentin sniffles and reaches for another tile, just as Eliot finally—finally!—looks up and quirks an eyebrow at him. “Q,” he says, voice overly cautious as he scoots closer to him, his own hand reaching for a green tile. “Why do you look like you’re about to drop dead?” 

Quentin shrugs a stiff shoulder and places his tile before looking up at him. “Hm?” He asks, playing dumb, “I don’t know—“ 

“You look cold.” 

“Oh,” quentin says, “That. That’s because I am cold.” He smiles innocently and turns back for another tile. 

Eliot scoots closer. “I know you know how to cast a warming spell… so why haven’t you?” 

Quentin doesn’t look at him as he digs through the pile for a pink tile, “why haven’t I what?” 

“Cast a warming spell.” He can practically hear Eliot’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, can almost see the way he’s probably slouched over behind him. 

“Hmm,” Quentin hums, shuffling around until he’s facing him. “Spell just doesn’t—do it for me anymore.” He shrugs and leans forward, brushing passed Eliot’s arm in the process as he places the tile. 

  
“The warming spell… doesn’t do what for you anymore?” Eliot asks, incredulous. He reaches out and grabs Quentin by the wrist as Quentin starts to move away. “Keep you alive in the dead of winter?” 

“Exactly.” Quentin grins and pulls to move away, but Eliot holds tight. He tilts his head, “Yes?” 

“Are you drunk?” 

“Little bit. But so are you.” 

“High?” 

“Well, the air is literally filled with op—“

Eliot yanks him forward, and Quentin comes tumbling into his chest. Not a bad start. “Not funny. What’s going on?” He looks down at him with such concern, that Quentin almost feels bad. 

He sighs.

“I was hoping I’d find something else… to warm me up.” 

“What the fuck is better than a warming spell?” He holds him tighter, and Quentin can feel the warmth seeping through his clothes. 

“I can think of one thing.” 

Eliot narrows his eyes, “Alright?” He says, “Are you going to tell me about this cure all that’s not doing shit—“

“It’s working.” 

“Oh, really? Says the guy who’s lips are blue—“

Quentin grins, blue lips and all, “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

“What?”

Suddenly bored of the game, Quentin rolls his eyes and looks up at him, “Eliot,” he says, sickly sweet, bordering on dangerous, “Will you warm me up with your kisses?” He pushes up, brushes his nose against Eliot’s jawline. 

Eliot inhales, his grip around Quentin tightening. “Oh,” he murmurs, leaning down to nose at Quentin’s hairline. “That—I can do.” He pauses, pulling away, “But just so we’re clear—worst seduction technique, ever.” 

“Only because it took you ten hours to see I was freezing!” 

Eliot makes a face, reaching up to cup Quentin’s jaw, “Oh, honey,” he says, leaning down, “You have so much to learn.” He smirks against Quentin’s lips. “But later. For now I have a sacred duty to keep you from dying.” 

Quentin laughs as Eliot suddenly maneuvers them around so Quentin’s lying with his back on the mosaic and Eliot’s moving in for another kiss. And just like that, Quentin is warm all over. 

No magic necessary.


End file.
